The Step of Two
by Carries Stars
Summary: AU. John hasn't danced since an accident during performance while his dance troupe toured Afghanistan. He returns home to London, thinking he can no longer dance. He gets help to be a teacher at the Baker's Dance Institute and meets Sherlock. SLASH SOON.


****Author's Note**: **Hello! I'm Carries Stars and this is my first Sherlock fic here. This is an AU, so that also means that I've changed **a lot** of things, but I will try to be true to the characters as best I can. I'm not a dancer, definitely in no shape for ballet, but if I do make any mistakes, feel free to tell me. I can guarantee that updates may be loose, but that's because I have a job and it's very tiring. But enough of that. Enjoy the fic lovelies!

**Summary (bit longer)**: Sherlock AU. John hasn't danced since an accident during a performance while his dance troupe toured Afghanistan. He returns home to London, thinking he can no longer dance. He gets help to be a teacher at the Baker's Dance Institute and meets Sherlock. Astonished by his graceful and mesmerizing moves, Sherlock may be able to pull John back into the world of ballet.

**Pairing**: Sherlock/John

_Step of Two, also known as "pas de deux." It is a ballet duet. _

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><p>John still dreams about it. The performance, his last one. He remembers pain and his leg complies with it, acting up as he lays on his bed. He can close his eyes and remember the bright stage lights over his head, the feel of so many eyes on him, and his heart hammering in his chest. The final act, she was to jump and he was supposed to catch her, simple and done so many times in rehearsal.<p>

John didn't know how this one, during the most important moment, why this one was so different. She jumps on cue, John kneels on one knee, arms open to catch her, lift her, and twirl her til she slides down to the ground. All part of the performance, the art. However, something went wrong. Maybe it was the shift of his leg, maybe it wasn't exactly on the spot he's done nearly a hundred times over. Maybe she put too much of her weight into the jump and couldn't control where her body ended up leaping into. Maybe it was the unrelenting heat of the lights above, causing him to be sweaty and sweatdrops ran into his eyes, making him blink them away.

Either way, it happened. She jumped, her body crashing into his with enough force for them to tumble and skid across the stage, the audience gasping with shock. She was pulled off of him and his shoulder is shooting hot arrows through his whole being. Broken arm and dislocated shoulder. During his pain filled haze, he looks to the audience and so many eyes are still on him until someone remembers to close the curtain.

He was in no shape to continue the performance or any other performance, seeing as he needs to lift his partner in some acts. Sarah, the artistic director, decided it'd be best if he recuperated at home, in comfort. "Come back when you're all better." she says with a gentle smile, but John couldn't return one to her. He didn't even argue with her. John silently returned home to London, staying at a motel and trying to live day by day til he's all better. Sarah calls, asks if John's ready to come back and dance. John's answer, with great difficulty, was "I can't."

John hasn't danced since that night. His shoulder healed, yes...but his leg. His leg would send sharp pains up his thigh, not being able to carry his or any other dancer's weight. He'd collapse to the ground trying to do a simple bloody _fouetté en turnant*****_. Doctors have examined it and say that, physically, there's nothing wrong with his leg. No wound to send the pain that John clearly does feel. Frustrated, he went to a therapist and hoped that she would help him dance again. John felt a sort of restless itch to dance, his muscles aching to be moved. He's practiced dance nearly his whole life, from childhood days of being in classes with Harry, when she used to be somewhat girly, and continuing them when she suddenly quit and wanting nothing to do with anything feminine. John stuck by it though, finding the adrenaline that pumps through his heart whilst he dances addicting.

During one of their sessions, his therapist, Dr. Potts, suggests for him to start a blog. "John, it would help so much to write about everything that happened and is happening." she says softly. John does as she says, not bothering to tell her that _nothing_ is happening to him. It's like he's taken a pause as life continues to go on without him. He's standing still and he doesn't know how to move again. John sets up a blog,** The Personal Blog of a John Watson Ex-Dancer**. He hasn't written a word or post in it yet.

_'Nearly two months and no signs of a breakthrough yet.'_ he thinks with a slightly bitter sigh as he walks home from another session.

He limped his way through the park, ready to go back to his little motel room. He turns his head and sees someone familiar sitting on a bench, someone he really wasn't in any particular mood to see. Mike Stanford, once a student at Bart's dancing school in their younger days. '_Not now, please.'_ he thinks. All he wants to do is go back to his room and rest his aching leg. John passes him, ignoring Mike's face as recogniztion sets in on his face. _'Please don't call out to me. Let me get home in peace.' _

"John? John Watson!" Mike calls out. John's steps stop, he couldn't help the eye roll before he turns around. "Mike, Mike Stanford. We went to Bart's together." he said and hold out his hand to be shaken. He gives Mike a polite smile, nodding and shaking his offered hand. He may not have wanted to be socializing at the moment, but he hasn't forgotten how to interact. "Yes, sorry Mike. Hello."

"Yeah I know." Mike shrugs. "I got fat since the last we saw each other." John shakes his head "No, no. You look fine."

Mike claps his shoulder and smiles. "I've heard you've been dancing abroad and had some great shows. What happened?"

John glanced at his cane, keeping him upright and his leg aching for rest and bed. "I got hurt." He licked his lips before he said, "Can't dance anymore." Mike's smile quickly went south and John saw what he wanted to avoid at all times in Mike's eyes, in anybody else's eyes. Pity. John was being pitied and oh how he hated it. He didn't want to be pitied, did not want to be coddled or taken cared for. His leg isn't completely holding him back! John grits his teeth and resists the urge to yell this, not only at Mike or his therapist, but at the whole world.

Mike, maybe sensing John's negative mood, didn't ask too much and instead asked if he'd like a cup of coffee with him. John smiled gratefully at him. They sat, drinking coffee, and John sighing with relief as the pain in his leg is subsiding. Mike talks about his life and John listens, finding this quite...pleasant. He's been alone ever since he's gotten back from Afghanistan and wallowing in his own depressed thoughts. It feels good to have someone to talk to.

"And I'm teaching at the Baker's Dance Institute. Bright young things like we used to be. God I hate 'em." he said witha light chuckle and John smiles. "What about you? Gotten yourself settled yet?"

"Can't afford a place to stay yet, not with my leg like this." He said and patted it.

"Maybe you can come to Baker's with me? Get a teaching job and show the youngin's how it's done properly."

John looks at Mike skeptically and waves a hand, as though to shoo the idea away. "Nah, I don't think...besides my leg and-"

"I understand, but you don't have to do any dancing. You'd just help them with their positions and how to move. You don't have to strain your leg too hard for it."

John feels tightens his hand and swallows a lump in his throat. "I don't know if they'd even want me." he said, his voice low as the statement made him feel so insecure about himself. He was useless, couldn't even catch a dancer properly and got himself hurt. Even if he were to get his leg better...who'd want him for a dancer?

"You've danced more performances then anyone else I know and you've been abroad. You'd definitely qualify. What do you say?"

John opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. It...was actually a good idea. It's the best idea he's heard so far. He can't stay in that motel any longer, not that he'll be able to afford it any longer, and he really did need a job to hold him down. To be honest to himself, he felt a ball of excitement grow in his stomach, inclining for him to say yes. But his mind, the one that his doubts and fears are controlling are making him say instead, "No, no. I can't possibly-"

"We even have some room and board for teachers that stick around." Mike persisted.

John's jaw tightens, struggling internally on whether he should or should not. A part of him, the part that lived to dance and on the adrenaline wanted to say yes, god yes. Another part of him, one that reminds him constantly of his failure and how so many have seen him fail, tell him to save himself of the pain of being reminded of what he can't do anymore. This, of course, makes him absolutely furious. So sick and tired of that half of himself telling him what he can and can't do.

He blinks back to reality, Mike expecting an answer, and he nods. "Ok. I'll do it." Mike's grin grows and he laughs with delight.

"Great! You'll love it there!"

_**(To Be Continued)**_

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><p><strong>(*<strong> F_ouetté en turnant_ is when a dancer stands on one leg and turns, whipping the leg around to twirl. Google and youtube will help explain and show you.**)**


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